


untitled first time shmoop

by thewaymyfoxwas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Morning After, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaymyfoxwas/pseuds/thewaymyfoxwas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s thought a lot about what this would be like.<br/>Over the years, he’s dreamt up all kinds of fantasies about the actual sex: Cas using all the strength to slam him against the wall, pin him to the mattress. Cas going lax and compliant beneath him, letting Dean take the lead, relishing in giving someone else control, someone he trusts to give it back. Desperation and grasping and frenzy, or drawing it out, gentle and slow, trembling against each other’s skin. At this point, Dean had run the gamut and decided that he wanted pretty much everything when it came to Cas, and he’d spent more time than he cared to admit imaging each scenario in vivid detail.</p>
<p>But he’s actually a little embarrassed by how often he’d thought about /this/.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled first time shmoop

**Author's Note:**

> some silly fluffy 'dean and cas had sex last night and now everyone's happy'-ness to give me something to write. I wasn't originally going to put it up here, but people on tumblr seemed to enjoy it - everyone is as starved for dean and cas being happy and together after //that scene// as i am, apparently.

He’s thought a lot about what this would be like.

Over the years, he’s dreamt up all kinds of fantasies about the actual sex: Cas using all the strength to slam him against the wall, pin him to the mattress. Cas going lax and compliant beneath him, letting Dean take the lead, relishing in giving someone else control, someone he trusts to give it back. Desperation and grasping and frenzy, or drawing it out, gentle and slow, trembling against each other’s skin. At this point, Dean had run the gamut and decided that he wanted pretty much everything when it came to Cas, and he’d spent more time than he cared to admit imaging each scenario in vivid detail.

But he’s actually a little embarrassed by how often he’d thought about _this._

Images of waking up with Cas, knowing he’d be there before he’d even opened his eyes, may have developed in Dean’s mind later than thoughts of sweat-plastered skin and trembling muscles, but they were as deep and indulgent as any wet dream.

 

They took their time getting there. When Cas found his way back to the bunker, wide-eyed and human – by choice, this time – Dean had been so damn thrilled to have him home, have him safe, that he’d doted on him for days. Took care of him while he rested, healing from the trauma of the fall. Brought him books from the library, made him soup and burgers and toast at breakfast.

He kissed him for the first time in the kitchen, showing him how to make pancakes.

He kissed him for the second time washing plates an hour later. His mouth tasted like syrup and coffee.

 

For weeks, that was as far as it went.

Sam walked in on them on the couch, pressed gently against each other. He’d smiled, thrown a cushion at them, and yelled “Gross!” as he’d retreated back the way he came. It was the first of many such incidents – featuring the classic lines _oh my god would you get a room_ and _you’re gonna get cooties ya know, Cas._ A part of Dean had worried Sam would look at him different. Mostly he just seemed to be enjoying the excuse to be a pain in the ass little brother about it. Dean found he didn’t mind so much.

 

It came to a head in the library, of all places.

Dean had watched Cas’ long, slender fingers trace down the pages of dusty old tomes all afternoon, trying to ignore the way his lips fit around the gnawed pen lid, and something just _snapped_. He grabbed Cas by the wrist and led him back across the hardwood floors to his bedroom, feeling his heart jump around in his chest. Cas must have caught on somewhere along the way, because Dean only got two words into the ‘only if you’re ready’ speech. The door was barely shut before Cas was on him, Dean pinned against the wood as Cas moulded them into something seamless, a surge of lips and hands, light scrapes of Cas’ teeth and nails in all those perfect places, Dean’s fingers playing lightly under the hem of Cas’ t-shirt. Dean was so engulfed in it, swept away in the feeling of _Cas Cas Cas_ that he couldn’t have remembered how they got to the bed if he’d tried. But somehow he ended up on his back, the light haloing Cas’ mussed hair as he leant over him, and everything after that was rolls and tides and heat, their deep, shaky breaths mingling in the space between them, and a disgusting incapability to look away from each other’s faces for too long. In the afterglow, legs quivering and eyes weighing down, Dean wondered – not for the first time – how he could have suffered through so many nights without this.

 

When he wakes, their bodies are curled close enough that, while he can’t remember for sure, he has a suspicion they fell asleep looking into each other’s eyes like the embarrassments they are.

Cas’ hair is sticking up in all kinds of new and interesting directions, his head the only visible thing above the bundle of Dean’s blankets tucked under his chin. Dean slides from his side of the bed, muscles aching pleasantly. His hips feel stiff as he pads around the room, steps into a thin pair of grey lounge pants and tiptoes out of the room. He keeps tiptoeing all the way to the bathroom.

His skin feels oily and sour from stale sweat (among other things), but he fights the urge to jump into the shower yet. He brushes his teeth instead, before stripping off his pants to hang them from the hook on the door. He cleans himself off the best he can, just enough to make himself more comfortable. He didn’t leave the water running long enough – the sponge is just this side of too cold as it passes over his body, cutting cool lines through the post-sex film covering him, and, bizarrely, he laughs. The little voice, the one he will probably never be completely rid of, is muttering at the back of his skull, reminding him of its presence, telling him to feel ashamed, that he shouldn’t want this. He catches his own eye in the mirror, and thinks about the almost-man in his bed; his beautiful eyes and strong arms and gentle hands, body curled in on itself in sleep, and the thought of feeling shame seems ludicrous. Wanting him is the most logical thing Dean has ever done.

When he’s dry and vaguely clean, he pulls the pants back over himself and shuffles to the kitchen. Sam is sat in there already, eating cereal and skimming through a folded newspaper. They wish each other good morning and don’t speak again. Dean makes coffee, one cup bitter and strong, the other milky and too-sweet, while Sam’s eyes follow him.  He picks up the finished cups, and finally turns back to Sam’s knowing smile. Somehow, he manages to chew his Cheerios smugly.

“Shut up,” Dean mumbles, his cheeks growing hot and pink around his little smile.

“I didn’t say a word,” Sam replies airily, sipping his orange juice.

“You didn’t have to.”

Dean catches himself grinning stupidly as he makes his way back to his room, a steaming cup in each hand.

 

Cas hasn’t moved since Dean left, still curled in the same spot, and Dean is tempted to leave him be. This isn’t the first time that Cas has slept in Dean’s bed, but this feels different; more significant somehow, and something in Dean feels fit to burst. He wants him here, like this, always, filling Dean’s sheets with his warmth and the smell of his skin and shampoo.

Dean puts the cups on the bedside table and sits on the edge of Cas’ side of the bed. He isn’t sure if it’s the hand rubbing up and down his arm or the siren call of coffee that makes Cas stir, but when the customary morning scowl melts into a sleep soft smile as Cas looks up at him, Dean feels warm and easy all over.

“Good morning,” Cas’ voice is even rougher than usual, but filled with such contentment that Dean has to lean down and kiss him, taste it on his lips.

“Morning.” He feels like he should say something, mark the occasion. Wants to tell Cas how much last night had meant. How he’s had good sex and bad sex, meaningful sex and casual sex, but nothing had ever come to close to being with him. How he’d never known it could mean that _much_ , feel that way. But he doesn’t know how.

Cas leans up on his elbow to reach for his mug, groaning slightly at the movement, the sound dissolving into _mmm_ sounds when the thick aroma of coffee hits him properly. Dean watches his face smooth out at the first sip, the way his shoulders relax, and Dean wonders how a creature of such age and power could be so contented by something as simple as morning coffee, that one sip reduces him to little more than a purring kitten.

He doesn’t even realise he’s smiling until the tip of Cas’ index finger finds the corner of his mouth, tracing a slow line over the swell of his bottom lip, as though he was witnessing some kind of wonder. Like the gentle upturn of Dean’s lips was worthy of being experienced in a way sight alone couldn’t offer. It made a light flush bloom on his cheeks, but he stops himself from looking away, lets Cas see him, and he doesn’t stop smiling when Cas abandons his cup back on the table and rises to meet him. His mouth tastes like over-sweet coffee over bitter morning breath, and he feel soft and warm beneath Dean’s palms. Dean breaks away from it, pushes him back against the headboard so he can crawl up the bed to lean in beside him, bury his face in his neck and breathe him in, feel him squirm a little at the feeling of Dean’s light stubble scratching his skin.

Cas places his hand in Dean’s, a little slow, still unsure what Dean is comfortable with now. When Dean laces his fingers with his a little more firmly, Cas squeezes gently, resting his cheek in the fluffy mess of Dean’s unbrushed hair, lifting it only for an occasional sip of coffee. He has to remind Dean to drink his.

Dean figured he would always be wrestling with that little voice telling him that he didn’t deserve this, that he should be ashamed for even wanting it – the one that sounded like his father, or Alastair, or himself in turn. He was going to be working on that for the rest of his life, probably. But, oddly, that was ok. Because Cas believed in him. Sam believed in him – even if he was a smug little shit about it. From where Dean was sitting, leaning his weight against the solid warmth of Cas’ shoulder, that seemed like pretty damn good place to start.


End file.
